Foolish Games
by Asynca
Summary: SPOILERS. Luka continues his surveillance of Bayonetta and Jeanne after the events in the game.


Foolish Games

By Asynca, who is now property of Bayonetta.

No copyright infringement intended against either the creators of Bayonetta or against Jewel (who wrote a great song I can wail pathetically along to when I get my own heart broken).

* * *

_She has to have figured it out by now,_ he decided. _I mean, come on, that woman has, like, eight senses or something._

He put a pair of ornate binoculars to his nose, and focused them on Bayonetta's – _No, Cereza's,_ he corrected himself – face as she boredly scanned the first few pages of _The Vigrid Herald, _ankles crossed neatly on the café table adjacent to her. Her chair was tipped onto two legs, gently rocking as she hummed absently to herself. He couldn't help but notice the spoon she'd been using to skim the froth from her cappuccino drawing lazy, sensuous circles around her lips as she cleaned it. Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose as she focused, frowning, on an article.

_Come on... Come on..._ he mentally urged her, leaning towards the scene in anticipation, momentarily forgetting he was perched on a second story balcony. Until he toppled over the railing, that was. Preventing himself from falling was (skillfully honed) reflex; however, the binoculars were another matter altogether. They fell towards the cobblestones below, and smashed loudly.

_Fuck._

She looked up sharply, her eyes darting from the smashed binoculars to Luka, who was dangling from the hotel balcony like a sore thumb. A smirk touched those perfect lips.

He waved awkwardly at her. Maybe he could pretend it was all part of some stunt...

Within a fraction of a second, she was beside him, reclining upside-down against the wall as easily as if she were lying on the floor. She folded her hands behind her head. "New hobby, Cheshire?"

He tried to laugh casually. It didn't go so well. "I was, uh, actually just coming down to say hello."

She chuckled indulgently. "Oh, I'm not referring to you stalking me. That's rather an old hobby for you now, wouldn't you say?" She swept her arms across the wall, indicating their position halfway down it. "I'm talking about turning this ordinary building into a big boy playground." She flared her legs to cross them. "Very amusing, I must say. Although, not to insult your lovely one-armed swing," she turned her head slowly to peer over her glasses at him, "but I must say I prefer more _adult_ versions of that sort of equipment."

Her breakfast partner had wandered out of the interior of the café with a coffee and a tiny slice of cheesecake on an enormous pristine white plate. She didn't look at all surprised to find Bayone—_Cereza's_ seat absent. In fact, as Jeanne discarded the plates on the table and placed one hand on a generous hip, Luka reflected that she looked rather nonchalant. Her eyes searched the surrounds until they came to rest on Luka and Cereza, halfway up the hotel. She crossed her arms, tilting her head towards the pair of them with extremely muted amusement.

"What do you say, Cheshire?" Cereza's voice reminded him of the other incredibly hot, and – _whoa_ – close woman that he should probably be focusing his attention on.

There was a stiletto point idly lifting the hem of his pants from his boots, and stroking against his ankle. "I, uh, well..." What was she talking about again...?

"Now that I've played on _your_ equipment, what would you say to a turn on mine?"

Jeanne's eyes rolled bored in their sockets. "Cereza," she began, "stop torturing that poor creature and come eat your cake."

Poor what now? "Hey!" Luka interjected, putting his spare hand on his own shapeless hip. "I'll have you know most women consider this 'poor creature' to be incredibly attractive!" He flexed a bicep.

Jeanne couldn't have looked less impressed as she gave him the once-over. Well, maybe if she were asleep, or possibly if she were dead. "Really," she said with total disinterest, and then turned her attention back to Cereza.

"I'll come eat my cake if I can have it, too." Cereza winked at Luka. It went straight to his pants. He gulped.

"As you wish," Jeanne said dismissively, making as if she were ignoring them as she descended gracefully into a café chair, crossing her legs. She took one long sip from her coffee cup, closing her eyes and exhaling with pleasure. She then retrieved the paper Cereza had discarded from across the table, shouting casually over it at her partner, "Don't forget mortals break when you play with them."

At that point, Luka decided he wouldn't have been particular averse to being broken, although he was pretty insulted by her lack of confidence in his abilities. "Lady," Luka called to her, "you've obviously been playing with the wrong mortals."

She scoffed from behind the newspaper. "Oh, please. I haven't been playing with _any_ mortals." She took another sip of coffee. "Just because I tolerate the extra-curricular activities of my incorrigible companion, doesn't mean I participate in them."

"'Oh, no'," Cereza said with staged austerity, imitating Jeanne's voice, "'I wouldn't want to dirty my hands by associating with _mortals_'." She leaned in towards Luka, so close that he could have pursed his lips to touch hers. Her hot breath – which smelt like a combination of sweet coffee and cinnamon – tickled his chin as she whispered. "What if I _like_ dirty?"

Before he could formulate any sort of intelligible response that didn't involve either drooling on or dry-humping her, she had flipped playfully from the wall and sashayed back into the café to sit eagerly in front of her cheesecake. "Ooh! What flavour have you bought me, now?"

"Sweet cherry. Ironic, I know." They shared a secret smile. That went straight to his pants, too, and then it went to his head, and then he felt weird about it; weird, and kind of angry. But also kind of hot, in a pathetic, masochistic kind of way. He _did_ feel a bit tortured, actually: a good sort of torture.

"Nonsense," Cereza filled her spoon with cake, and had to open her mouth exceptionally wide to fit it all in. Her delicate throat bobbed as she then swallowed the whole load of it in one smooth movement. "Cherry is my favourite flavour, if you'll recall..."

That same leather toe that had recently been lifting his pants was now surreptitiously nudging Jeanne's ankle. He totally wouldn't put it past that woman to be flirting with Jeanne as a means of furthering his sexual torment. In fact, if it weren't for little details – like the way in which Jeanne and Cereza sampled each other's coffees, or how they were sitting in positions perfectly mirroring the other, or how Jeanne smiled slightly at Cereza's teasing antics – he would completely have thought she was just trying to turn him on. _Trying, and succeeding_, he thought, loosening his wire until his feet met the ground and then sinking back against a wall. The last thing he needed to be doing if he wanted to get laid ever again was dangling in the middle of downtown Vigrid with a giant boner.

Deliberately oblivious to his surveillance, they continued their idle chit-chat over breakfast, and then swept off somewhere on Jeanne's exceptionally loud and sickeningly decadent motorcycle.

After they'd left, he wandered 'casually' over to their table (looking casual was another skill very important to a serious reporter), running his eyes over lipstick-stained coffee mugs and half-eaten desserts. The paper had been folded and placed aside, only half-read. He exhaled, crestfallen, flicking through until he found his article. "_'Our Divine Saviour – Not So Divine After All_'," he read aloud, skimming through the article until its conclusion. "_...Not divine, but every bit as adored._"


End file.
